The Unseen Hand

by Edward Marston

  ‘I second that. I was delighted to hear of his generosity.’

  ‘The money is not given freely, Superintendent. Fleetwood expects prompt action in return for it.’

  ‘The reward is bound to generate a response from the public.’

  ‘It’s a pity we have to rely on it. I know we’re still at the early stage but I’d hoped that we’d have accumulated enough evidence to have at least some idea of who the killer is and what happened to the guest who occupied the room in which a total stranger was found dead. It’s almost,’ said Sir Edward, fingering his moustache, ‘as if somebody is playing with you.’

  Chatfield was stung. ‘Then he or she has chosen a very dangerous game,’ he warned.

  ‘Marmion usually cuts through to the very heart of any mystery. Why hasn’t he done so in this case?’

  ‘Give us time, Sir Edward. We are all working flat out.’

  ‘Keep me posted about any developments.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ said the other, glancing at the watch he’d just taken from his waistcoat pocket. ‘I’ll be late for my meeting with the Home Secretary. It’s all Dacey’s fault.’

  ‘Are you referring to Quentin Dacey, by any chance?’

  ‘Yes, he’s just had another go at me.’

  ‘The man is a crackpot, in my view.’

  ‘Unfortunately, he’s a crackpot with an increasing number of followers at his back.’

  ‘What is he after this time?’

  ‘It’s the same thing as usual. He believes that we’re overrun by German spies and that some of them are determined to kill him. He demanded police protection.’

  ‘What did you tell him, Sir Edward?’

  ‘I pointed out that we had finite resources and that their first duty was to ensure the safety of the citizens of London. Technically, he’s not one of them because he was actually born in Belgium, though his parents were both British, of course. Besides,’ he went on, ‘I can’t offer him twenty-four-hour protection. That would mean two officers guarding him in eight-hour shifts. We need those six men for more important duties.’ He moved to the door. ‘Don’t forget what I said, will you? Keep me up to date with the investigation. I need to be able to offer Fleetwood some concrete proof that we’re making headway.’

  He walked out and left Chatfield squirming.

  Alice Marmion enjoyed her time in the canteen, chatting to her fellow policewomen and staving off the moment when she’d go home to an empty flat. It was not simply her inability to see Keedy that irked her. There was also the fact that he was once again engaged in an exciting investigation while her experience of police work consisted of pounding the streets of her beat and dealing with minor incidents. What she did was necessary, but it would never lift her spirits and make her blood race.

  She was just about to leave the building when she saw someone ahead of her. It was Jennifer Jerrold, who was on her way home. Alice instantly stopped thinking about her own troubles and increased her speed. Catching up with the other woman, she fell in beside her. There was an exchange of greetings and gossip. After a while, Alice became more serious.

  ‘Is everything all right, Jenny?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said the other.

  ‘You went past me earlier on without even looking at me.’

  ‘Sorry – I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  ‘Iris tells me you’re thinking of resigning.’

  ‘It’s true, Alice. I don’t think I’m cut out for policing.’

  ‘But you’re one of the only people Gale Force actually praises. The rest of us get the sharp edge of her tongue.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘So what’s the real reason you want to leave?’

  ‘It’s to do with my parents,’ said Jennifer with a wan smile. ‘They think the work is too dangerous for me. My father doesn’t like some of the things I’ve seen on the late shift. And he’s afraid of all those drunken soldiers we’re bound to meet.’

  ‘You always have a policeman with you, Jenny.’

  ‘I still see prostitutes every day and hear foul language. That really upsets my parents. They’re very religious and worried about me. They’re afraid I’ll be corrupted.’

  ‘You’re actually trying to keep the streets of London clean for decent people. Don’t they realise that?’

  ‘It’s not their fault, Alice. They were brought up with certain beliefs and it’s made them narrow-minded. Left to them, I’d be kept indoors all day long.’

  ‘You’d hate that.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Besides, you’re over twenty-one now. You can make up your own mind, not have it made up for you.’

  ‘As long as I live at home, my parents make all the decisions.’

  ‘That’s why I moved out, Jenny. I love Mummy and Daddy but I wanted some freedom of movement, so I rented a flat. I can come and go whenever I please now.’

  ‘You’re so much braver than I am.’

  ‘I very much doubt that.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jennifer, looking up as a vehicle turned into the street, ‘there’s my bus. I must go, Alice.’

  ‘Can’t you catch a later one?’

  ‘My parents will be expecting me. Nice to talk to you …’

  She ran off and left her friend standing there. Alice watched until the bus stopped, took passengers on board then drove off. She was puzzled. Something about their conversation troubled her and she didn’t know what it was.

  As a result of her visit to her husband, Griselda Fleetwood returned to her hotel in a more positive mood. She asked to be shown the room where the murder had been committed. The manager unlocked it for her then stood beside her as she viewed it. She sucked her teeth.

  ‘We can’t possibly use this room again,’ she said. ‘After what happened in here, nobody would want to come anywhere near it.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean we write it off,’ insisted Chell. ‘We simply turn it into a storeroom. We’ll get some use out of it then.’

  ‘Won’t the staff object?’

  ‘Mrs Gosling and I will talk to them. If they want to continue working here, they’ll have to do as they’re told. We can’t let a perfectly good space like this go to waste.’

  ‘That’s a hotel manager speaking,’ said Griselda. ‘I agree wholeheartedly.’

  ‘We’ll have to wait until the police have concluded their inquiry, Mrs Fleetwood. When it’s over and done with, I’ll have the furniture taken out and the carpet lifted. This would be ideal as a laundry room.’

  ‘Did you ever have this kind of problem at the Savoy?’

  ‘We never had a murder – thank heaven – but we had the occasional crisis. The worst was too indelicate to mention.’

  ‘Don’t hold back on my account,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’m not a shrinking violet. Tell me all.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it was when a royal equerry got hopelessly drunk, blundered into a suite in the belief that he was in a bathroom and relieved himself over a foreign dignitary who was fast asleep.’ She laughed again. ‘I had the misfortune to be on duty that night and had to defuse what might have become an international incident.’

  ‘You were born to manage a hotel, Mr Chell.’

  ‘I can’t say that it was ever my ambition. When I fell into it by accident, however, I felt supremely at home.’

  ‘That’s why we’re so glad to have you here. I hope your attitude towards the Lotus hasn’t been soured by what happened in this room.’

  ‘I can put your mind at rest on that score, Mrs Fleetwood.’

  ‘Good man.’ She became brisk. ‘Have the police been back?’

  ‘The inspector was here not long before you arrived.’

  ‘Did he have any news?’

  ‘He brought a photograph that he’d been given by Sir Godfrey Brice-Cadmore. After close examination, I was able to identify one of the people in the photo.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘The
lady who actually booked this room,’ he said, ‘under the name of Sir Godfrey’s wife.’

  Marmion’s heart missed a beat when he first set eyes on Sir Godfrey. Propped up in a hospital bed, the old man looked as if he was close to death. His face was white, his eyes watery and his cheeks hollow. Every ounce of energy seemed to have been drained out of him. If he hadn’t heard the faint sound of breathing, the inspector would have thought he was gazing at a corpse. The doctor had told him that Sir Godfrey was very weak and might not even recognise him. A nurse stood beside the bed, ready to intervene if the patient had a relapse.

  ‘How is he?’ asked Marmion.

  ‘We’re keeping him alive, Inspector,’ she said.

  ‘The doctor said that he’s had a stroke.’

  ‘We’re afraid that it’s more serious than that.’

  ‘Is he able to talk?’

  ‘Yes …’ croaked the old man.

  ‘Ah,’ said Marmion, leaning in closer, ‘you can hear me, then.’

  ‘Someone … needs to be told …’

  ‘It’s being taken care of, Sir Godfrey. I gave the doctor your address and telephone number. Back in Elmstead Manor, they’ll soon be aware of what happened to you.’

  ‘Am I … going to die?’

  ‘We hope not.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said the patient, managing a pale smile. ‘I’m not afraid of death … I’m ready for it.’

  ‘Don’t say that. We need you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We may have discovered her identity.’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘It was all thanks to one of your photographs.’

  Sir Godfrey frowned. ‘What photographs?’

  ‘You brought them to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Did I? Why on earth should I do that?’

  ‘Don’t you remember?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘But you know who I am, don’t you?’

  The old man peered at him. ‘I’m afraid that I don’t.’

  ‘I’m Inspector Marmion.’

  ‘Never heard of you …’

  He began to dribble and twitch violently. The nurse moved in to hold him gently by the shoulders. When he eventually settled down, she used a cloth to wipe around his mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector,’ she said. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

  ‘Does he remember anything?’

  ‘No, sir, he’s in a world of his own.’

  Fraser Buchanan spent a long time with the manager of the Roath Court Hotel, going through the month’s accounts with him and discussing how the healthy profits could be increased even more. They were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. Buchanan snatched it up and was told by the receptionist that Harold Fleetwood was asking to see him. After telling the manager that he needed the use of his office, Buchanan went off to meet his visitor. Fleetwood was standing in the middle of the lobby, looking around with a mixture of interest and disapproval.

  ‘Judging by the look on your face,’ said Buchanan, approaching, ‘the Roath Court is not to your taste.’

  ‘It has its virtues,’ said Fleetwood, ‘but they’re mostly hidden beneath what I consider to be unimaginative decoration.’

  ‘That’s very harsh, Mr Fleetwood.’

  ‘I speak as I find.’

  Buchanan didn’t offer his hand because he knew that the other man would refuse to shake it. They had met before and maintained a steely antagonism towards each other. Buchanan made a sweeping gesture with his arm and led the way out of the lobby. They were soon alone together in the office, standing face-to-face.

  ‘I’ve been expecting your wife,’ said Buchanan with a sly grin, ‘but she sent you to chastise me instead.’

  ‘Griselda doesn’t even know that I’m here.’

  ‘Then why did you come – to challenge me to a duel?’

  ‘Duels take place between gentlemen and you will never meet the qualifications to become one. In sending that bouquet to my wife, you showed what an unprincipled little rat you are.’

  ‘It was a sign of sympathy from a fellow hotelier.’

  ‘No,’ said Fleetwood, ‘it was an example of revelling in the misfortune of someone you hate because she stole guests from you.’

  ‘Some of those guests will be coming back to me, I fancy.’

  ‘That was your intention, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Ah, I see. You’re here to accuse me of being behind the unfortunate events at the Lotus. It’s not enough for Mrs Fleetwood to set the police onto me. She’s now unleashed her husband.’

  ‘I’m here in place of my wife. Griselda was keen to tackle you herself, but I managed to persuade her to keep her powder dry. She may need it when this case is finally over and those involved – directly or indirectly – are behind bars.’

  ‘Which one am I – direct or indirect?’

  ‘We both know the answer to that, Buchanan.’

  ‘Are you saying that you have evidence that I was implicated? If that’s the case,’ said Buchanan with a teasing smile, ‘I’ll call the manager in so that I have a witness to your absurd claim.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘Ah, we’re backing down now, are we?’

  ‘I simply came to tell you that the game is up.’

  ‘What game?’

  ‘I’ve been to Scotland Yard and spoken to the commissioner, who happens to be a friend of mine. I stressed the importance of looking very closely at you as an obvious suspect. You’re driven by sheer envy,’ he continued. ‘Because my wife has put the Unicorn Hotel in the shade, you wanted to bring her crashing down.’

  ‘That’s simply not true.’

  ‘You were her sworn enemy from the start.’

  ‘Then why did she turn to me for advice?’ Fleetwood was plainly startled. ‘Oh, I see. She obviously forgot to mention that. Years ago, when her dream of opening a hotel was still in its infancy, she had the sense to consult a number of us who’d been in the business for all of our working lives.’ He spread his arms. ‘I was happy to oblige.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. She knows the sort of person you are.’

  ‘Yes, I’m a highly successful hotelier.’

  ‘And you resented her plans from the start.’

  ‘If that’s what she told you, it was very naughty of Griselda.’

  ‘Don’t you dare call her that!’ roared Fleetwood.

  ‘There was a time when I was given the right to do so,’ said Buchanan, nonchalantly. Walking to the door, he opened it wide. ‘Good day, Mr Fleetwood. It was good of you to call but I’m not the person you need to talk to – it’s your wife.’

  On the spur of the moment, Alice Marmion changed her mind. Instead of going home to a cold and lonely flat, she decided to call on her mother instead. Guaranteed a cordial welcome, she caught the bus that took her to the family home. When she opened the front door, Ellen’s surprise was matched by her elation.

  ‘Alice!’

  ‘Hello, Mummy.’

  ‘Oh, this is such a treat. Come on in.’

  After a warm hug, they went into the living room. Alice was pleased to see a fire flickering in the grate and giving off enough heat to make it noticeable. They sat beside each other on the sofa. When she’d explained why she’d decided to visit her mother, Alice had a question.

  ‘You took a long time to answer the door, Mummy.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘I didn’t realise it was you.’

  ‘Were you expecting someone else?’

  ‘No,’ said Ellen, ‘but I’ve learnt to be very careful, that’s all.’

  ‘Careful?’

  ‘I’m frightened, Alice.’

  ‘But you’re perfectly safe here.’

  ‘Am I?’

  Ellen looked so haunted that her daughter was worried. She wanted to know why such a brave and level-headed woman as her mother was now so nervous and hesitant. Alic
e grasped her mother’s hands.

  ‘What’s the problem, Mummy?’

  ‘It’s not really a problem …’

  ‘It must be if you’re scared to open the front door. Nobody will hurt you. Compared to many districts in London, this is a very safe one. You’re in no danger.’

  ‘I am, Alice. We all are.’

  Once she’d started, out it all came. She told her daughter about the novel by William Le Queux and how it had made such a deep impression on her. Because she could see how fraught her mother was, Alice was very patient but increasingly worried. She’d never seen Ellen in such a state. When she heard that Quentin Dacey was giving a lecture on the following day, her advice was brusque.

  ‘Don’t go, Mummy.’

  ‘I feel that I have to. I must know the truth.’

  ‘And what makes you think it will come from Mr Dacey?’

  ‘He’s done research. He knows how many German spies there are.’

  ‘They were all rounded up at the start of the war.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Talk to Daddy,’ urged Alice. ‘Better still, listen to Joe. He went to the Isle of Man. That’s where German civilians living in this country are interned. They were imprisoned in huge numbers. If there were any spies, they’re behind barbed wire in one of the camps Joe told me about.’

  ‘You don’t understand. That novel explained it all. You don’t have to be a German to be a German spy. They’ve been recruiting people from other countries as well – many of them from Britain.’

  ‘Mummy—’

  ‘They’re so clever, Alice,’ said her mother, ‘and so cunning. They were planning this war for years. It’s the government’s fault. The signs were there but they didn’t take them seriously. Germany was ready for war, but we were caught cold.’

  ‘I don’t know the author of that novel,’ admitted Alice, ‘and I’ve never heard of this man, Dacey, but I know their type. They enjoy scaring people with horror stories. Ignore the two of them. It’s the only way to have peace of mind.’

  ‘But they were so convincing.’

  ‘People like that always are. They know how to work on your mind. When I last saw you,’ recalled Alice, ‘you were in such a relaxed and happy mood. All of a sudden, you’re terrified of opening the front door and you probably jump whenever a floorboard creaks. That’s no way to live. Do you really want to go on like this?’